When I climbed out of the suburbs with my dreams in one hand and my ruthless ambition in the other I never thought I’d end up here. I thought I’d be famous by now, or have conquered the world or at least have done something nationally recognizable. Anything short of that is failure.
Or so I thought.
I’ve learned that life has its way with you no matter what you do to prevent it. Trouble follows certain people and I don’t think I’m an exception.
I’ve spent so much time fighting fate that I’ve almost ruined it for myself. We do things that we think are right in the moment, but after the fact were just the immature actions of the prototype we were. You know what they say, what doesn’t kill us makes us more annoying.
College is a place full of bar stool profits and misplaced intentions. One moment you’ve got it all figured out and then, when no one’s looking you implode. This is a microcosm of life. I haven’t seen much of it yet, but I see it in the faces that pass me.
When I walk to school in the morning with my headphones in and a thousand neurons firing in my brain’s highway I look around an awful lot. I look around for something to restore the fact that this is the path I chose, and there’s nothing I can do about it. Instead I am met with the faces of people who are doing the exact same thing: rationalizing their choices.
There’s something oddly endearing about false hope experienced in large groups. Some days I wake up and I think I’m Bukowski fighting the good fight against normalcy and indifference trading humanity for the tortured lifestyle of a human detached, trying to chronicle the interactions of humanity. Other days I wake up and realize I’m just a 23 year old girl waiting at windows for something to break them. I realize that I’m not past the desperate summers and the mistakes, and you know what? That’s okay. In fact that is good.
In the daylight hours when the hangover is in its prime you somehow forgive yourself for the night and move on. The little moments of clarity give us the strength to continue our miniature fights with the world.
When it comes down to it we’re all born into this world as animals, and the people who bring us to the world, the people who teach us, our friends, and our relationships teach us to be human, or shape our humanity. Whether that influence increases our animal instincts or breaks them down depends on the company we keep.
Although our relationship with reality may be tenuous at best we can keep it at arm’s length at the price of our sanity. Once we cross the threshold of coping with reality there really isn’t anything stopping us from controlling it.
Failure to me anyway is the absence of controlling our reality. Once we get caught off guard by a failed relationship or a bad grade or a shitty situation we often refer to it as failure, but it isn’t. The things that cross our path in an unfavorable way are just that, things. Experiences. We can’t put ourselves in frames and hang on walls to avoid trouble. We have to live in the trouble, because without the trouble we won’t know what comes after it. We won’t know the reward for all the bullshit.
We can’t all be rock stars, or dead rockstars even but every day we have a choice to create or destroy, live or die, find the trouble or live in safety.
Some people take it too far, but if you don’t take it at all you’re missing out. On what? I can’t say, only you can find your brand of trouble.